


Spinning Through Binds and Blood

by Muddell



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Have a Tony to feel better, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I'm sorry Peter, Idk what I'm doing just roll with it, Iron Dad, It's a balancing act, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Precious Peter Parker, Pretty much everyone loves Peter, Protective Tony Stark, Spidey son, The Avengers are essentially just a bunch of aunts and uncles, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, but - Freeform, here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muddell/pseuds/Muddell
Summary: Peter woke to the sour flavor of blood and the tug of bindings.He coughed on the taste, recoiling as the fabric covering his mouth dragged against his chapped lips-metallic and damp. Peter opened his eyes and colored splotches fritzed in and out of his vision as he registered the surrounding darkness. Stone leached at his warmth through the thin cloth covering his skin and he twisted sluggishly, trying to sit upright even with the ties forcing his arms behind his back and joining his ankles together.Or, Peter wakes tied up in a closet with no memory of how he got there.Tony saves the day.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Peter Parker, Clint Barton & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57





	Spinning Through Binds and Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeey. Guess who's rewatching the movies and was like, I need something for my fingers to do while I watch? This girl.
> 
> I took some liberties with different aspects of the timeline and the capabilities and make-up of Peter's suit but like, doesn't affect the story as far as I'm concerned. If I made an obvious mistake y'all are welcome to yell at me in the comments but like, let's maybe not?
> 
> Anyway. Story time.

**Peter POV**

Peter woke to the sour flavor of blood and the tug of bindings.

He coughed on the taste, recoiling as the fabric covering his mouth dragged against his chapped lips-metallic and damp. Peter opened his eyes and colored splotches fritzed in and out of his vision as he registered the surrounding darkness. Stone leached at his warmth through the thin cloth covering his skin and he twisted sluggishly, trying to sit upright even with the ties forcing his arms behind his back and joining his ankles together.

Painstakingly, Peter tried to take stock.

It was harder than he thought it would be.

Each thought spun and meandered as he tried to focus, flitting between the headache that throbbed in tune with his pulse. He squeezed his eyes shut and drew in one deep breath after another.

In one. Out two.

He was wearing his suit-that meant he was Spiderman at the moment. Okay then. He just had to ask Kar-His eyes flew open.

His mask.

His mask was missing.

Peter jolted in alarm and his situation dawned on him that much quicker.

There was liquid pooled in the shackles clasped around his wrists, dripping to the concrete floor between his numb fingers. It was sticky and cold against his skin-his bare skin.

That was...wrong.

Peter flailed his fingers and managed to feel around with his hands, wincing as metal dug against his lower arms. His web shooters were broken off and missing, and the glove sections of his uniform were cut away, the rest of his sleeves rucked up just above his elbows instead of protecting his lower arms. His legs were in a similar situation-his feet were bare and the tattered edges of his pant-legs were dragged up around his knees.

But he still didn't have his mask. Which was unfortunate, because that would have been helpful.

Instead, he had a piece of cloth stuffed into his mouth, tied tightly behind his head at an angle that caused the fabric to cut painfully into the sides of his mouth.

"Kawang," he tried. But nothing materialized in the corner of his sightline. Karen was gone. No mask, no helpful suit lady. He needed to figure this out the old-fashioned way. So through the spiking pain of his headache, Peter squinted.

It was still dark, but after waiting for his eyes to adjust, he could see that he was trapped in what was essentially a large closet, a sliver of light visible under a door-the only exit.

With a muffled groan Peter awkwardly began wiggling across the floor. The four walls were far enough apart that he couldn't use his legs to kick off of one wall and climb up another with the support. Instead, he forced his legs under his chest and sat up so he was kneeling. Still bound, he listed sideways and collapsed against the wall opposite of the door, exhausted.

He was aching...pretty much everywhere. Every movement caused metal to slide and aggravate his torn skin. His head pounded with what was probably a concussion, his arms and legs burned where his blood flow was cut into, and he was covered in bruises.

And he had no idea how he got here.

Peter thought back. He remembered school...bidding goodbye to Ned and starting patrol...he had given a lost tourist some directions...then it was blank.

He couldn't remember anything after that, and the angry pulsating of his head gave him an explanation. He would have tried reaching up to feel for a bump or blood-dried or otherwise-but his hands weren't moving.

Peter sighed and gathered his willpower. He didn't know how or why he was here, but he didn't want to stay. Time to move.

He rose to his feet unsteadily, leaning against the wall and wobbling dangerously as his equilibrium shifted. The movement pulled at his air supply and he breathed deeply in response. Peter was...not in good shape.

Regardless, he inched across the room, each pace cut into by his restraints, until finally he slumped against the door. He tried opening it by maneuvering the doorknob around with his arm-to no avail. For one thing, his strategy sucked. For another, it was obvious the door was locked.

Peter groaned through his gag, this time more in frustration than pain. His hands. He needed his hands. And mobility. He needed his feet too.

He had neither.

Rather than continue standing on shaky legs, Peter dropped to the floor. He drew his legs up from in front of him, so his chin rested on his knees and his thighs pressed against his chest. His restrained arms complained as he leaned back and trapped them between him and the door.

Peter looked down and examined the cuffs on his legs. Bloodstained and heavy metal circled three inches of skin above both of his ankles. Between them ran a connection of more dark metal, with an obvious keyhole situated in the middle of the connector. Peter had no key. _Y_ _ay_.

He tentatively pulled his feet in opposite directions, but the metal didn't give. All he accomplished was an aggressive rebound of pain from his head and body alike under the effort.

Peter bit down on his gag spitefully.

Next, he tried his arms.

He felt around with his fingers clumsily and got a vague picture of the restraint. It was the same build as the cuffs on his feet, only twisted so his arms were pinned at an awkward angle. He strained against them, shoulders popping and fresh blood flowing as the edges of the metal dug into his flesh. Peter arched his back and tugged harder.

Stars burst across his vision. His metabolism was working overtime trying to keep up with his accelerated healing, and he could feel the beginning twinges of hunger pains. His energy levels were running low and getting smaller by the minute, he didn't have the energy to spare to be playing around with his super strength. It was get out of these cuffs now or never.

Peter whined into the cloth as he gathered his strength and gave one quick yank. The number of visible stars doubled and his vision momentarily blanched as he drew breaths in quick succession, the air in the closet cold and burning his nose. He could feel more blood-slicked skin tear and twist and protest.

The metal creaked.

He was now alternating between muffled gasps and moans as he shifted and wrenched at the binds but _finally_ the shackles splintered apart.

It was so sudden his arms both flew out, scraping against the door and jerking to a stop as agony flared across his shoulders and down the two limbs. For a second he stayed sitting, frozen. Then, tentatively, he tried to move his arms to his sides.

Mistake.

He gasped and bit down, forcing the gag to scrape against the edges of his mouth.

Not trying that again.

Peter waited another minute, slowly inching his arms down until his hands settled flat against the concrete floor. The stone quickly grew wet as crimson accumulated across the surface.

When the ache returned to 'bearable' Peter reached up and undid the knot on the back of his gag, cringing as he forced his upper arms up. When the cloth finally slipped free he spit it out and licked his dry lips. Between the ragged flesh where his molars had chewed on his inner-cheeks and the cuts in the corners of his mouth Peter almost choked on the metallic tang.

He took a moment to suck in a couple greedy breaths before turning his attention to his legs.

With his legs and now mobile arms working together it was much easier to free himself from those restraints. They popped off and he shoved them to the opposite corner of the closet.

Then, Peter took a moment to examine his skin. Above his ankles had a few gouges, but most weren't deep enough to worry about. His healing would step in long before the loss of blood became a problem.

His arms on the other hand...

Peter pulled his sleeves back down and tore of the edges of both, tying the scraps around both wrists to try and slow the bleeding. It didn't take long for him to notice a dark liquid soak through-even in the dim lighting.

He needed to get out of here-wherever here was-fast.

Peter clambered to his feet and used one hand to brace himself against the wall as the space spun. When the floor finally stopped swimming around he tried the doorknob again. It didn't budge. Peter tried once more, this time scrounging up another bout of super strength. But dealing with his restraints had sucked away his power leaving him shaky and weak.

The knob stayed locked and the door stayed closed.

Peter drew back a few unsteady steps, paused, and then lurched forward with all the force he could muster.

_Whap!_

The door shook on it's frame, crackling with the sound of minute splintering.

Peter also shook from his new spot on the floor, bruises now layered on top of his bruises and gritting his teeth as his thoughts roiled inside his pounding head. Where his aching and weak arms had been unable to harness his enhanced strength, apparently his body itself packed a punch when slammed against an obviously reinforced door.

He took a minute, running a hand along his inflamed shoulder before standing up.

"Okay," Peter muttered, wincing at the tug in the corners of his mouth. "Okay, I got this. Totally got this."

He ran his gaze over the exit. There were visible cracks in the surface of the door and when he pressed his hand against it there was noticeable give.

Peter nodded, stepped back until his back pressed against the opposite wall, then lunged.

This time he slammed against solidity that quickly gave away, leaving it and him crashing to the floor on the other side of the wall.

The impact came as a painful jolt and Peter groaned through his teeth. His vision twisted and his eyes watered at a sudden brightness-Peter squeezed them shut but even then thick nausea overwhelmed him.

"Ow," he managed quietly. Then, a moment later, an alarm sounded. Deep beeps that reverberated in what he recognized as a hallway. Both close and far, different locations joined together to spread the noise throughout the building.

Peter trembled.

The sound cleaved through his mind and his ears _throbbed_ with his enhanced hearing. He reached up (which, also _ow_ ) and clasped his hands over his ears but that did little to muffle the noise. Peter twisted and rolled and distantly registered he was off the door and laying on more concrete ground.

Peter laid sprawled across the floor for an eternity as the alarm blared and probably would have stayed there for another, until-

_DANGERDANGERDANGER!_

He jolted. Every nerve in his body was jarred with a sudden alertness that crawled and dashed through his senses like fire. And Peter _moved._

He shot to his feet. Tensed. Leapt back.

Just in time too.

A smattering of gunfire erupted as two guards dashed into view down the hall, their lead flying off to embed itself at the opposite exit.

Peter thrust his hand out, automatically firing his webs to wrap them up-but no-the shooters were gone. He quickly changed gears, jumping up and sticking to the walls, moving to the ceiling, then back to the floor, the next wall-

He slipped from surface to surface as bullets whizzed by dangerously close, each one closing in better than the previous. Peter slid to the ceiling again just in time for one of the guards to run out of ammo. Through the face guard he wore Peter could see the man's look of alarm as he stumbled back. Not far enough.

Peter took advantage, dropping to the ground and lunging forward to force the man into a knee to the gut, then ripping his gun away and tossing it back down the corridor. The man collapsed.

Next, Peter turned his attention to the other guard. He ducked down as the man struggled to open fire in such tight quarters. Sliding forward, he reached up and yanked the gun away, then delivered a solid punch that slammed the man's face guard back, hitting his nose with a sickening crunch.

The guard sunk to the floor, unmoving besides the slow rise and fall of his chest.

But before Peter had a chance to catch his breath the first guard, now arguably recovered, went to tackle him. Peter responded by vaulting up to the ceiling and dropping behind him, landing a solid hit to the back of the man's head while he was unbalanced. He went down hard.

Peter kicked the gun from the second guard further away from his prone form, staggered forward three steps, then promptly bent over and lost the contents of his stomach.

His ears rang and his vision blurred, his muscles ached and every movement felt heavy, like he was underwater. The overhead lights of the hallway burned his eyes and the smell and taste of metal overwhelmed him. The remnants of his suit scraped against his skin like sandpaper.

Peter heaved again.

He took half a minute to lean against the nearest wall, shaking and still wracked with nausea. There would be more guards, he must have set off the alarm when he broke down the door. He needed to be gone before anyone else showed up, because with how he was now he doubted he could fight them off.

At the same time, he kind of doubted his ability to make it to the end of the hall.

The burst of movement that came when confronted with danger was completely gone, his energy sucked away again. If anything, he felt worse than before. Like his reserves were missing and he was scraping through the bucket that held them.

But his half a minute was up.

Peter pushed off the wall and trudged forward-slower than he would like, but moving all the same.

The end of the hall opposite of where the two guards came from intersected with another hallway. Both ways looked identical, so Peter went right.

Right was...right, right?

He took another right at the end of that hall, then a left after that just to switch it up.

Peter was beginning to wonder if he was trapped in a maze-the endless number of hallways suggested it-when he turned around a corner and ran smack into another guard.

_DangerDangerDanger!_

Peter reacted. He shoved away from the wall and the guard, who actually looked surprised. She quickly reacted though, swinging a baton right where he had been a moment before.

_DangerDangerDanger!_

He pulled back-too slow.

The baton made contact with his right side, smashing against his lower ribs with a vengeance.

Peter yelped.

One hand pressed against the new hurt, Peter surged forward and grabbed the baton in the other, ripping it from the guard's grasp. He jerked back from her punch. She went to grab the gun strapped her waist-too late, Peter slammed her head against the wall and she crumpled into his arms.

He lowered her to the ground as gently as possible considering his arms currently had the strength of noodles, then pressed two fingers to her neck between the gap in her mask and her vest. A pulse played against his fingers and he drew back, leaving her propped up against the wall.

The rest of the hallway, and the next, passed without an event. Peter was grateful.

Unfortunately, the alarm continued to blare as he passed from hall to hall desperately, forcing himself to pick up the pace even as his legs burned. He was beginning to think he wouldn't find a way out, that the next guard he passed wouldn't be alone and that a wave of them would overwhelm him. That they would drag him back to a closet or a cage and lock him away again, so that this time he would have no chance of escape.

Peter's breathing sped up.

His hands curled into fists and he looked around wildly as he turned onto another hall-suddenly expecting to come face to face with an insurmountable force-

A door.

_A door_.

Peter raced over and slammed against the hard metal of the exit.

His shoulder took the brunt of the impact, and a small dent formed against the surface. Peter ran his hands desperately along the seam of the door and the wall. Then, he turned to the keypad that jutted out beside it.

He didn't think about it.

Peter punched at the pad with all of his strength and his knuckles throbbed as they slammed through the metal in a burst of electricity. He took his hand back quickly.

For a terrifying moment, nothing happened.

Then, just when Peter was pretty much ready to pass out, the door automatically slid aside.

A blast of cold wafted in from outside and encompassed him in an icy fog. Peter let out a breath that billowed to visible life in front of him, then he stepped out into a short stairwell that led up to the open sky.

The world outside of the halls was filled with trees, a thin blanket of snow, and a sky darkening with late evening.

Peter leaned into it and hurried away from the exit as more alarms blared to life outside. He flinched, but these were further away and less overwhelming. The snow scraped against his feet like a bed of nails and underneath a floor of twigs and debris scratched at his skin.

He didn't let it bother him. The chill heightened his shaking. He started to run.

Each pace was lopsided and unsteady and distant shouts followed him further into the woods. But he was Spiderman. He could do this.

It must have been ten minutes Peter ran...then walked...then staggered...with this reminder in mind.

But his toes were pale and turning blue-his fingers going the same way. He was more lightheaded and nauseous than ever before and even though he had ripped off more suit to bind around his wrists, blood leaked through and landed in dark droplets against the snow.

He stopped. Just thirty seconds.

Peter leaned against a tree and soon found himself sliding down.

Maybe a minute.

His head rested against the chilled bark and he could feel grooves already press against his forehead. The crisp air tasted fresh and replaced the previous blood. It smelled the same.

His eyelids drooped and his pounding headache pulsed but it was less noticeable than before.

Just a short nap-

His eyelids flew up.

_No!_

He needed to stay awake. Needed to _move_.

Peter thought he saw the glint of distant light. Maybe a road was waiting beyond the trees? The glow was moving...it had to be a car.

He wiggled, drawing closer to his tree.

That light...it was really coming closer.

He needed to move-

Why was that?

Peter frowned.

The light was coming closer-that was important.

It...it was them.

It had to be them.

Whoever kidnapped him.

He blinked slowly, and when he opened his eyes again he thought he saw a glint of red.

He should leap to his feet and start to sprint in another direction.

Peter closed his eyes and drifted.

Let them come.

He was staying right where he was.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh. Peter, bud, you good? Cause uh, sorry about...all...that...
> 
> The next chap's gonna have some Stark cause he's frickin Iron Man and yes. Protective Iron Dad stuffs to come.
> 
> Love to hear what y'all thought of my short little snippet where Peter was just a little unrealistically yikesed on? Literally Marvel semi-marathon is getting me in the mood here so next chap should be soon (no promises tho cause ha). Don't hold me to that.
> 
> But cy'all again then.
> 
> Toodles!


End file.
